Elbows on the Table: Afternoon We sit at the kitchen table in the afternoon, threads of sun weave halo blankets, a speckled voice shimmers: How was your day, my mother asks, as if the day ended the moment I walked in the front door after school in my uniform ready for milk and what the heck a Hostess cupcake or Ding Dong. I am learning all about living and reflection, and the comfort of a kitchen companion. I watch the mother across from me (she once in pearls) sit with elbows on the table, breathe in and out like the tides, as if the day begins, each time I speak and she glistens again. --Maura Conlon-McIvor, 2010 It is summer and a ripe time to share poetry!
